The plague of singleness

I’m running my first 5k in a long time this weekend. As a freakishly competitive person, one who is not allowed to play board games or flip cup because I am nuts, I have to keep reminding myself that its not about a personal best every race. Sometimes its just about not getting lost or throwing up on the side of the road. Like I said, its been a while.

A very smart, very dedicated friend of mine decided that she was going to run a 5k every month of 2012. I think she is a crazy person, but I have gotten caught up in her excitability and readiness to push herself. Come rain or snow on Saturday morning, while you’re tucked neatly in bed or nursing your hangover, I will be huffing and puffing and wishing I hadn’t smoked that cigarette on the way to work this morning.

How festive, I thought, that this race is a Cupid’s Case. Festive, until the shirts, that is – which brings me to the prison I can not escape. No, it’s not the fact that I can’t trick a normal dude into taking me out more than once, or that I continue to waste time with idiots and sidepieces. Nope, its the bigger, more traumatic, reality that single is as single does. In the last five days I have been out on a blind date from hell with a total stranger that a coworker met at a bar and then gave my number to, I have also been introduced to a seemingly young college admissions rep by some people at work on my lunch break, and finally received a race tee shirt that proudly(?) displays “AVAILABLE” on the back, so all those boys I (won’t) be lapping on Saturday will know exactly who’s ass they are checking out.

Now, I am in no way opposed to the idea that a friend of mine might know a nice dude or two. But I have to warn you, Internet people, just because two people are not dating anyone, does not mean they should be dating each other. I have been set up with mechanics who thought college educated equal snobby, and Upper West Siders who were visibly disappointed with my very existence upon showing up for dinner. Acquaintances have given my number to their dentists, guys at home depot, and bartenders. When did having a pulse become the only pre-rec for an introduction? So, against Patti’s match making advice, I’m going to start resisting the urge to please people by dating whomever they think will “be perfect(!)” for me. I am, instead, going to wear a hoodie to this race and hope I don’t bump into any I know.